 |
||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|||
|
Paper fluttering in a cold breeze torn from a book. The knife cutting into flesh and blood seeps black as a raven in a tree where no bird can ever sing.
A burning line of fire blackens branches. A woman's wailing is the only sound her face unseen hidden in her stained hands though the skin is obscene white.
In searing heat from the pit of his stomach the red flame rose burning up towards the throat consuming the heart.
Love and anger at war has scorched the earth. The wind dies and nothing stirs.
|
|||